Awake

"Your strength, extraordinary… The mark…of a true lord… O, dear Miquella… O, dearest Miquella, my brother… I'm sorry, I finally met my match…"

It is an odd thing, to feel defeat after a lifetime of victory. For so long she has feared it, and now that it is here she feels at peace. As if a great weight bound to her had been released. There was a relief in such a feeling. She had done her duty to the best of her ability, none could say otherwise. Her peace is well earned.

Yet she feels wrong.

Not the fetid rush of blood through a dying body. The sense of corruption within her was… weak. Withdrawn, even. It feels as though that which defines her is fading. Was this what it means to feel defeat, she wonders? To lose sense of even the fundamentals of one's existence?

She does not know, for she has never known defeat before.

A frigid sensation slowly replaces the fetid rot. Creeping along those limbs that remain, inciting an old pain she has not felt since her time hunting in the Consecrated Snowfields. Death should not feel like this, she knows it. This is the sensation of life.

It is difficult, understanding this, at first. Her thoughts are slow, confused. She should be dying, for she was surely bested. If not that then she should be consumed by rot, slowly decaying beneath the Haligtree, a monument to failure. But instead she finds her thoughts returning, clearer than they have been in an age. She understands, slowly, the truth of her situation.

She is Malenia, the Blade of Miquella. And she still lives.

Faint strength returns, and she clenches her hand tight. The crunching of snow is now obvious to her, as is the frigid wind against bare flesh. Tiled stones scrape against her skin, a snow covered road then. Prosthetics of unalloyed gold scrape against the stone, finding purchase alongside their fleshborn counterparts.

Then there is pain.

The oh so familiar pain of battle wounds. Of cuts and bruises, the art of battle painted against her skin. There are so very many, blood still flows freely from them. Yet she cannot let their weight bear her down. She has tasted defeat once, she will not do so again.

A moment later, she collapses and tastes the cold ground instead.

It is a frustrating thing, and something she repeats more than once. But, she does find her strength eventually and begins to rise. Her prosthesis, nearly as lifelike as the limbs that they replaced, do not struggle to bear her weight. They are locked rigid, responding to her commands as they always have. It is her own strength, her true strength, that she must marshal so that she may rise.

So it is, after a time, that she forces herself up. First her hands find purchase in the snow covered stone. Then her shoulder and back burn as she pushes herself up. Finally, she brings her legs under her and stands. Her knee shakes, and her stance is awkward and weak. Unfitting of her, but necessary.

The strength still eludes her in its entirety.

Inevitably, she falls again. Her leg gives way and the ground rises to meet her. But Malenia has learned and she catches herself with her true arm. The impact jars her, and the palm of her hand burns as stone cuts into its flesh. Another reminder that she still yet lives, even if such a simple act is so exhausting.

Her muscles burn and ache with the fires of exhaustion. Yet, she must not let it overwhelm her for she is not sure that if she falls that she will not get up again.

It is a hard truth to accept, but she cannot force herself to act if her body will not listen. So she remains, kneeling on this road she cannot even see breathing controlled and mind focusing. In this time she listens, understanding the world she is in.

The wind whispers through trees.

Snow gently kisses the ground.

Life sings through the land.

And the sound of hooves on stone approach her.

Her jaw sets, her hand tightens, and she forces herself to rise once more. Even as her body screams at her that she must rest, Malenia forces herself to stand and face those that would approach. There are too many to be the Fell Omen's Night Cavalry, and they speak to one another too openly as well. Perhaps soldiers then, she thinks. Servants of the Haligtree looking for her.

Unlikely

The sound of hooves stop, replaced by the nervous nickering of horses and men alike. The creaking of wood is obvious now, which means that these are carriages. Malenia listens and focuses, even as the pain in her body wracks her mind. Though the Rot abates, the pain of injury is its own sedative.

Though it is painful, with focus and will she knows her quarry. Two carts laden with five men each. Two men on horseback, one at lead and the other as a rear guard. A dozen men total; even as she was, Malenia was confident that they would be easy to dispatch, should violence become necessary.

However, their words confuse her.

"By the gods, who… what is that?" Says one man in a tone of fear.

"Check your eyes soldier, it's a woman, obviously." A stern voice, the tone of a man used to leading others.

"If that's a woman, then she clearly belongs with the giants!" Dismissive and filled with mirth, certainly not a soldier.

"Be quiet back there. Pelatius, keep an eye on the prisoners." The commander again.

She understands them, but their accents are strange and foreign to her. That they do not recognize her even in her current state is curious. What this means is hard for her to determine, however. The pain is eating at her strength, and she has to resort to leaning on her 'good' leg to remain standing.

The commander speaks to her, "You there. Can you understand me? I am General Tullius of the Imperial Legion. Who… what are you?"

The pain has quickened and Malenia knows she will not remain conscious for long.

"I…" her voice is dry and cracked, and she only now realizes how much her throat burns.

Her pride will not let such a thing deter her, however.

"I am Malenia. The…"

But her pride is poor defense against the reality of her body. Her legs collapse and soon her face is reaquainted with the ground. Vaguely, she is able to hear the men shouting as she falls.

"Damnit! Someone grab one of the blankets from the carts, and get this woman a healing potion…"

These are the last words she hears before the darkness takes her, yet again.

It is the poking of wood into her temple that wakes Malenia from her slumber. A sharp stabbing sensation that forces her awake. Her eyes flutter open, and pale morning light nearly blinds her again. This alone is enough to shock her to the core.

The Rot had claimed her eyes years ago, an unfortunate but unsurprising outcome. Only strength of will and focus would keep it at bay. Yet no matter her actions, the Rot would always claim more of her. Her arm, her legs and eventually her eyes.

But if that was so, how is it that she can see the horseman riding behind the cart so clearly, the snow glowing under the suns light, or the men seated in the cart around her, their faces tired and dirty. While years of training has made it possible for Malenia to easily navigate her environment without sight, this has always been a crutch. A replacement if you will, for what she had lost.

Not anymore though, it would seem.

It would be fair to say that she cannot believe this. A lifetime of loss and acceptance of what the Rot would do to her has prepared Malenia for the loss of all that she is. It has not prepared her for regaining what she has lost.

She brings her fleshborn hand to her face, feeling the flesh, to know the truth. Whatever else happens, she must know if it is true. That the Rot has receded its touch. Her fingers brush against smooth, unspoiled skin, her eye twitches from their poking and prodding. And she makes another startling discovery.

Her arm is clear of corruption as well; the lesions of the rot had withdrawn entirely, leaving pink flesh in their wake. Only the unalloyed gold stitching remains, shimmering faintly under the sunlight.

There is but one word she can grasp to describe what she sees and it rushes past her lips, "Impossible."

This is beyond impossibility. Malenia knows of only one person who was ever able to push back the Rot. But Miquella… she wonders if it is her brother who has done this. Has sent her to this place, to cure her of the Rot. It seems a ridiculous idea, but then her brother has always had a flair for the ridiculous. The time he traveled the Lands Between disguised as a female saint still brings a faint smile to her face, so many years later.

All this time, her stirring has not gone unnoticed. Her contemplation is interrupted by the man to her left. "Hey, you. You're finally awake."

Her eyes flick up to see a grizzled blonde man, muscled and dirty, looking down at her. Or rather, directly at cart is clearly not designed for one of her stature, so her… rescuers have seen fit to set her down in the center instead, propping her against the headboard. A long and itchy horse blanket has been set out over her, and most interestingly, she is not bound. Unlike the others in the cart with her.

Along with the man speaking to her is two dark haired men at the back of the cart. The one on her left is in rags and wears the expression of a broken man, barely responsive to the world. The one to her right is clad in nobles attire with his mouth bound. He is looking at her as well, his expression intense and curious. A fourth man is unconscious to her right.

"You gave the Imperials quite a scare you know." the man continued, "as if they had never seen a woman before."

Malenia frowns, "Where am I? What is happening?"

The man's expression grows grim, "Ah, I see. You're in Skyrim, and the fortunate guest of an Imperial prison caravan. Though unlike me or that horse thief over there, your head won't be on the chopping block when we get to Helgen."

This tells Malenia nothing and everything.

She has never heard of 'Skyrim' before, but this and the man's lack of recognition at least confirms that she is no longer in the Lands Between. There have been tales of course, of lands beyond the fog. The First Elden Lord was supposedly banished by Queen Marika to far lands to conquer them in her name, though none have heard from him since.

The dress of the man does remind Malenia of the Kaiden northmen that Godrick had begun to employ after his disastrous siege of Leyndell, but she doubts that there is any relation. No, this is a new realm, one that no one from the Lands Between has visited before.

"So I've answered your question; if you don't mind, maybe you can answer a dead man's questions?" the man interrupts Malenia's thoughts, again.

It is an odd thing, to be talked to so casually and without due respect. But if this land is far removed from the Lands Between, then that may be quite common indeed, she admits. Something she may well have to get used to.

Malenia stares at the man and he shrugs, "Sorry, it's not every day you see a giant bloodied woman covered in bits of gold standing in the middle of the road. You're a bit of a curiosity, and I'd rather not die curious."

She cannot deny that he makes a fair point.

"Ask then." she says.

"Who, and what are you?" the man asks. "I mean, I've seen my fair share of powerful nordic women in my time, but you are something else. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were half-giant."

Malenia ignores his rambling and answers truthfully and simply. "I am Malenia, the Blade of Miquella, daughter of Queen Marika the Eternal, God-Queen of the Lands Between."

All eyes are on her now, and she knows that the carriage driver is staring at her over his shoulder now. One of his superiors shouts at him and he stops staring; the others do not.

Finally, the man lets out a low whistle, "That's quite the title. So if you don't mind my asking, your highness… why were you wandering naked in the middle of the woods looking like you'd gone around with a cave bear?"

Despite herself, Malenia cannot help but tighten her jaw. The worst part is that it is not an entirely inaccurate description, and she knows that. But that does not mean she will not answer his question.

"You have asked your question. Now I will ask you mine."

He smirks, smirks at her. "Fairs fair. Trading a question for a question sounds like a fantastic way to pass the time."

"Who are you? And why are you prisoners set for execution?"

"Ah, that's an easy one. I'm Ralof of Riverwood, a captain in the Stormcloaks, and we're on the chopping block for having the audacity to fight for a Skyrim free from the Empire's tyranny."

"So you're traitors and rebels." Malenia says bluntly. The carriage driver snorts.

"It's a matter of perspective, lass." Ralof replied, surprisingly unperturbed by her statement.

"The Empire failed to protect Skyrim and its peoples." he explains. "The Stormcloaks are fighting so that Skyrim can live free and no longer be used as a shield by an Empire that doesn't care about it."

"And what a fantastic job you're doing, damn Stormcloaks." The man next to Ralof has found his voice and is glaring angrily at the man.

Ralof looks at the man, more amused than angry, "Finally found your voice, eh horse thief?"

"Skyrim was fine until you Stormcloaks came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I'd have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now. I shouldn't be here, it's you Stormcloaks they were after!"

"We're all brothers and sisters in bind now, thief." Ralof replies.

The thief looks away angrily, muttering curses under his breath.

"The rebellion goes well then." Malenia notes.

Silence reigns over the cart. The only sound is that of creaking wood, the rumbling of cartwheels, and the nickering of horses. It is peace enough. Malenia closes her eyes and contemplates on the situation she is in.

Without the Rot, her mind grows every clearer by the second. Thoughts and memories that she had long since forgotten are open to her. She has found a library, open and untouched. It is strange, to leaf through the pages of events that she now knows she lived. As though she is experiencing them through a dirty lense. Yet they are hers, the fundamental aspects of what defines Malenia.

It is… too much.

To rediscover so much of what was lost at once is painful. Her skull pounds and her heart aches. So much of who she was, who she is, has been stolen by the Rot, only to be returned to her in a land that does not know her. A suitable irony.

She cannot dwell on such things. Her situation is strange, but she must take advantage of this the best she can. This, she knows, is something she will always do. Observe, analyze, and understand. With time, Malenia will fully understand herself, but she must also understand the world she now inhabits. So she lays out what she knows.

This is a realm unknown to the Lands Between. The Scarlet Rot has no power in these lands. This realm is embroiled in a civil war that may be more complicated than it appears. She has been defeated. It is this last one that truly sticks in her mind.

Though the sting of defeat burns her pride, the meaning behind it is far greater. With defeat comes the loss of her Great Rune, and with that is the loss of immortality. Though she has no use for the Runes power, nor interest in claiming its greater whole, Malenia knows that this newfound vulnerability is one she cannot take likely.

What's more, this realm has no connection to the Lands Between. Should she fall, there will be no rebirth, no second chance. If she falls, then her time among the living is truly at an end. This is a… sobering, realization.

Malenia stares down at her hands. One of pale gold, the other of renewed flesh. Such a frail thing, flesh. She knows this well, for many have fallen by her hand. But this was always with the knowledge that they would find rebirth in the Erdtree. Without it, this singular life is all she has.

Another sick irony; free of the Scarlet Rot, only to be shackled by mortality. Perhaps that was the trade; perhaps this was how Miquella sought to cure her.

It would make some sense, yes. Miquella knows her well, and knows that she would never consent to such a plan. It would not be beyond his will or reasoning to send a warrior that would finally best her, a warrior that could fell her long enough for him to finally free her of the curse, even if it left him undefended. The nerve of her brother, to do such a thing.

"Ralof, have you family?" Malenia asks.

The question seems to catch him off guard, before a fond smile cuts his face, "Aye. A sister in Riverwood, and her son. A rambunctious young lad he is, nearly a man. What about you, lass? Any family in your Lands Between besides this God-Queen of yours?"

"A brother. My dear twin, Miquella. And others."

"Ah, but you're not on speaking terms with the others, are ya?" He seems amused at having found a personal detail about her.

Malenia frowns, "No. T'is… complicated."

He nods with the grace of an elder sage listening to the woes of a young pupil. This exceptionally perturbs Malenia."I understand lass. Family matters are never simple affairs. My condolences."

She glances back out the back of the cart, "It is what it is. I have one, final question for you. Ralof of Riverwood."

"And what might that be, Lass?"

"Where will you go, when you die?"

To her surprise, he chuckles at her question, "Well, that is a bit dark, don't ya think? Though I can't blame you for asking. You're not exactly from around here, and we don't have a happy ending waiting for us at the end of this road. Well lass, when I meet my end at the executioner's block, I hope my deeds will have paved the way for Sovangarde, where I might feast in celebration of mighty deeds for the rest of time."

An eternity long celebration after a lifetime of battle. Such a place sounded… peaceful, to Malenia. It brought back memories of ancient campaigning among her knights, of victory celebrations. Those times, those memories, she was happy to find them returning.

"I do not know enough of your customs or your land to truly understand this civil war, Ralof. But, I wish you and your Stormcloaks find rest in Sovngarde."

Ralof smiles, though there is a great melancholy to it. "Thank you lass."

The rest of the trip is in peaceful silence. Snow covered woods slowly turn to clumps of greenery. The thief begins to panic as their destination grows nearer, but Ralof surprises Malenia again by calming the man, reminding him of his home so that he does not think of what might be to come. In another life, Ralof may have made a fine Knight of the Haligtree.

Finally, signs of civilization begin to take form. A palisade rises ahead, built on either side of a stone gateway. A simple wall walk is set into the gate where several guards in leather and chain armor stand waiting. Beyond the wall, Malenia can see the sloped thatch roofs of two dozen or so homes surrounding a smaller stone keep built into a rising mountain of stone. There are four towers in the keep, though one lies in ruin, and the structure is abuzz with soldiers.

As the caravan approaches, a guard calls down, "General Tullius, Sir! The headsman is waiting!"

"Good, let's get this over with!"

The thief begins rapidly listing off a series of gods in hopes of deliverance.

The cart rolls through the gates and villagers begin to emerge from their homes to gawk at the arriving caravan. That is of no surprise; executions are always a spectacle, in Malenia's experience. As their audience grows, General Tullius notably splits off from the lead and meets with another figure on horseback. A lean gold-skinned woman with sharp ears and dressed in fine ebony robes lined with gold.

Ralof makes a noise of disgust, "Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

He mutters another curse under his breath, and looks around as the carts continue on. There is recognition in his eyes.

"You know this place?" Malenia asks.

"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here." nostalgia tints his voice and he smiles again, "Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny… when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

The resignation, Malenia recognizes it. She has seen it in prisoners of war, thieves, and her own knights. It is the acceptance of death by one that knows it cannot be stopped. A tragedy, through and through.

Onwards the Cart continues through the streets of Helgen. More villagers gather, though more than a few usher their children inside to shield their innocence a bit longer. Few have noticed Malenia yet, though she knows for a fact that this will not remain the case for long.

Finally, the caravan pulls into an open courtyard, with an all too familiar block of stone resting in the center with a simple wooden bucket resting on its side. A simple and inglorious end, one Malenia was indeed very familiar with.

By this time, the thief is panicked. His eyes are wide and wild and as his captors begin unloading them from the cart, he bolts. Malenia closes her eyes and shakes her head. When she looks back up, his lifeless body lies in the street with half a dozen arrows sticking out of his back.

Beside her, the sleeping man jerks awake and groggily makes his way to join the line of Stormcloaks. He lacks their dress, but Malenia is certain that this matters little to the Imperials. Civil War has a habit of hardening even the gentlest of souls in unpleasant ways.

"Time to go," Ralof says, no smile on his face now. "Best not to keep the gods waiting. Good luck to you, Malenia. May they help you in your travels."

With that he steps out of the cart, and Malenia is alone once again.

Briefly.

For all of thirty seconds.

As the last of the Stormcloaks are accounted for, a woman in plated armor points at the man taking note of all of this and says, "Hadvar, talk with the woman. General Tullius wants her taken care of."

The man, of similar build as Ralof but with darker hair and cleaner complexion, looks relieved that he will not have to bear witness to the execution.

"Yes ma'am." he says and approaches the side of the cart, book and quill in hand.

He pauses once he looks properly at Malenia.

She has no such compunction and says, "I am Malenia."

For a moment he blinks, then realization dawns and he begins scribbling"I, um yes. Of course. Thank you, miss. My name is Hadvar. I suppose for the time being I am to tend to you and your needs. Though you certainly look healthy to me."

The irony in that statement nearly causes Malenia physical pain.

"I am adequate. But I would appreciate proper dress. And, I would like to know if my blade was retrieved as well."

It had been on her mind for some time, only passed over in favor of more immediate concerns. Now though, she would be remiss to say that the thought of traveling Skyrim without her blade was an uncomfortable proposition.

"Blade, your…" Hadvar furrows his brow in thought before glancing down and his eyes widen.

He points at the side of the cart, "This wouldn't happen to be your blade, would it?"

The cart creaks as Malenia peers over its edge, loosely holding the blanket to her chest with one hand. There, strapped to the side of the cart, is her blade. Again she is relieved. Whatever her reason for being here, be it a twist of fate or her brother's machinations, at least she was not sent without her blade in hand.

Hadvar moves for the straps tying it to the carts side, "Here, let me get that for-" he starts.

Malenia does not let him finish. Her hand wraps around the end of the blade and she pulls it free from its bindings with one solid pull. She is wise enough not to hold the blade up to the sky, for its length and luster are without compare and would surely startle the residents of Helgen. She is content to rest it in her lap and to run her gilded fingers over its edge. The blade sings in delight, pleased to be within her grasp again.

"I have never seen a blade like that before. Where did you get it?" Hadvar asks.

"T'was a gift. A blade from my brothers mind, forged by my fathers hand and blessed by my mothers magic." the memory is clear in her mind, it always has been. A sunny day under the Erdtree, a ceremony and celebration. One of the last times she remembers her family gathered in merriment. Upsettingly rare occasions indeed.

There is an understanding in Hadvar's face, a familiarity with her story. "A priceless heirloom. I understand your concern. Come, lets get you properly dressed then-"

It starts low, a warbling hiss that swells into a rumbling bellow that rolls through the mountains. The courtyard grows silent, heads turning skywards. Hadvar reaches for the sword at his hip. Malenia tightens her grip on her blade; she recognizes such a sound. It is the cry of the ancient enemy turned ally.

"What was that?" one of the soldiers asks.

Malenia answers, "A dragon descends on this village. You must clear this village at once."

Already she is scanning the horizon even as she swings her legs over the cart and stands at her full height. A few make noises of protest at her sudden interruption, but most turn towards her in surprise and shock. A man, clad in elaborate bronze plated armor, hair cut short and gray, and face lined with age, is the first to shake off his shock at Malenia's outburst.

"Look, miss, you weren't in the best condition when we found you, if you would just take a seat until we finish this-"

Again, the dragon's roar fills the sky. It is closer now.

The man's protest dies in his throat. He clears it and says, "Okay, dragon. We'll err on the side of caution."

He turns to the gathered soldiers, "Gather every able bodied soldier in this village, and get the people down below. We'll deal with the traitors after this blows over!"

"Yes, General Tullius!" the soldiers salute and disperse.

It is too little, too late.

A shape, darker than night, breaks off from behind a nearby ridge. Wings of pitch spread wide and the ground shakes as a truly massive dragon banks towards the village. Its size is unfathomable, larger even than the Ancient Dragon Lansseax. The beat of its wings send up torrents of air as it lands on the tower that stands sentinel over the courtyard. The structure of stone leans ominously under its weight as bits of masonry fly from its edifice to shatter upon the ground below.

The dragon is truly unlike any Malenia has seen. While its general shape is like that of the lesser descendants of the ancient dragons, its body is covered in obsidian spikes as though it were an ebony carving come to life. Many great horns sweep back from its head, in the shape of a twisted crown upon its head. But its eyes are its most striking feature; blood red things, dripping with malevolent intelligence and disdain. There is no doubt that this dragon has come for one reason and one reason alone. For the complete and utter destruction of Helgen.

Its jaw flies open in a roar, and the world trembles at its voice.

FUS-ROH-DAH!

Unrelenting force rolls over the courtyard. Prisoner, soldier and demigod alike are flung aside by its bellowing. Malenia soars backwards, smashing through the cart she has arrived in and crashing through the house behind it. She lands in a heap of debris, bits of thatch falling from the roof upon her. The inhabitants inside, who had decided not to attend the execution, scream in shock and terror at her intrusion.

Her head is ringing and the world spins around her. She shakes her head and closes her eyes until the spinning stops. Then she rises from the debris and turns towards the startled family.

"Head for the keep, and stay out of the open."

Then she steps out of the ruined house and back into hell.

What was once a clear day has quickly become overcast as clouds swirl overhead. Fire rains from the sky, burning molten rock that explodes against the courtyard. The dragon seems to admire its handiwork, then pushes off the tower it is perched on, sending it tumbling forward. Stone and mortar come crashing down upon several stunned prisoners and soldiers, their chances of survival ending when the dragon lands upon the rubble itself. It snaps a struggling soldier from the ground in its jaws, swinging its massive head about until the man comes in two, screaming all the while. Then it tosses what remains of him aside and roars.

That, Malenia decides, is quite enough of that.

During her tumble, her grip on her blade had remained firm. She raises it to her face and feels the hilt connect to her prosthetic. With a swing of her blade, the smoke in the air parts, and the dragon is revealed once more. Its large head rises and takes stock of her, fiery eyes narrowed in contemplation.

"O, Sentinel of Times long since Uprooted, come. Sharpened Steel shall clip thy wings, and bring thee low, as your kin was in time's past. I, Malenia, Blade of Miquella, challenge thee upon this frosted landscape."

Her words are punctuated by a chunk of molten rock crashing into the ground beside her. The blast kicks up her hair as a cape of scarlet silk, but she remains unmoving. A statue of marble and gold, waiting for its calling. The silence stretches, a seeming eternity.

It is not, but those few seconds by time for the people of Helgen. Burning houses are emptied, soldiers herd villagers for the keep, and General Tullius's voice rings above the chaos. One house, utterly engulfed in flames, collapses under its own weight sending embers flying between the two combatants.

When the first lands upon the cobbled courtyard, the dragon lunges.

Malenia leaps backwards, twisting her torso so that her blade swings around and clashes with the dragon's open maw. Fang meets blade, sparks fly, as two unstoppable forces lock in combat. The dragon is a force of nature, the tales of their exploits in the war against Queen Marika's Empire are legend. But Malenia is a legend all her own, only a single defeat marring an untouched streak of victories. Today, that streak starts again.

Three times the dragon snaps at her, and three times Malenia dances just out of reach, rewarding its attempts with cuts across its lips. Such light slashes do nothing, but they are not meant to harm the beast. She is testing it, understanding her opponent's strengths and weaknesses. Much like how it is doing the same.

She lands upon a shattered cart, gilded feet lightly touching upon a shattered piece of lumber. Her sword sings as she holds it out to her side, daring the dragon to try again. Such an obvious challenge must be answered, and the dragon does so with great fury. Its head rears to right and lunges forward, fangs gleaming .

Malenia settles all of her weight upon the lumber, kicking down with her leg so that the other end thrusts up and smashes into the dragon's jaw. Its muzzle snaps shut as the lumber splinters. But its momentum does not stop; its head twists and its horns come forward like a charging bull.

A twist of her hips and Malenia nimbly dodges out of the way, rushing beside the beasts elongated neck while raking her blade along its scales. A quick coil of her legs sends her soaring over its bulk and landing behind it. Her knees flex with the practiced ease of a thousand battles, her gilded feet digging furrows in the dirt until she comes to a stop. The dragon's chest rumbles with a growl of annoyance.

The monster twists slowly towards her, revealing its neck is untouched by the bite of her blade. Its burning eyes are narrowed, its maw a slit emanating rage. Though she did not harm it, Malenia knows she angered it. To land the first blow is a slight against any creature burdened with pride; and this dragon is no exception.

But what it does next, is unexpected.

TIID-KLO-UI!

The world shakes beneath its voice, and the dragon snakes forward as liquid death. The speed with which it moves is beyond what a creature of its size should be capable of. Years of honed experience saves Malenia. She is already moving, barely dancing out of reach of its fangs, but failing to avoid its swinging head.

The great beast slams its skull into her side, sending her flying through the air. She crashes once on her side against the ground, sending up smoke in her wake. Then, she rolls, quickly finding her feet and rising again. Just in time to see the dragon lunging towards her, fangs gleaming in the pale daylight.

A swirling ball of fire flies into the side of its neck, roaring as it explodes. The dragons head slams into the ground beside Malenia, kicking up a furrow in the ground longer than she is tall. A quick glance over her shoulder reveals her savior.

General Tullius has returned, two dozen soldiers in tow and a sorcerer priming another ball of fire. The soldiers are ill equipped for a battle like this, armored only in leather and chain and armed with pikes. A dozen more men have taken up positions on the village palisade, already raining arrows down upon the dragon.

"Don't let up, men! She bought us time, now we return the favor!" General Tullius somehow makes himself heard over the din of chaos. His men surround the beast, several thrusting into its side as it recovers from the impact

It is a vain effort.

The arrows harmlessly bounce off the beasts hide and it is already raising its head towards the approaching soldiers. Malenia knows what is coming next, but she can only move so fast.

YOL-TOOR-SHUL!

Fire streams from its throat, men screaming as they are cooked alive in an instant. More than half are dead by the time Malenia crashes feet first into its neck. Its fire goes wild, scorching the sky as the beast is sent staggering to its side. The sorcerer with General Tullius follows Malenia's attack with a bolt of lightning, scorching the beasts side.

Yet past the ash upon its scales, it is still unharmed.

As it staggers to the side from Malenia's impact, it suddenly twists on its feet. Its tail crashes through the remaining men, shattering bone and weapons alike. Malenia leaps over the offending appendage with contemptuous ease. As gravity pulls her down, she pulls her blade close, and lunges forward.

It is a practiced technique, one she has honed well. Few are able to avoid it, fewer still can withstand it. The Waterfowl Dance springs forth from her blades edge, a thousand cuts within the blink of an eye. Once, twice, three times she does this, dancing along the dragons obsidian form until she reaches the end, sliding along the ground and arresting her movement with her free hand. She observes her quarry, and sucks in one small shallow breath as her heart plummets. The dragon is untouched.

Beyond the dark ashen marks along its hide, the beast remains unharmed by the bite of her blade. It swings its head around to observe her, and there is amusement in its eyes. It knows, as well as she, that all her effort is for nothing. Its natural armor simply cannot be pierced ber her blade.

And there is no Rot for her to call upon to consume it.

The dragon resumes its assault, biting and slashing at Malenia with fang and claw alike. It takes to the sky briefly at several points, leaping over her to block avenues of escape or to bring down more buildings. It is toying with her; it does not see her as a threat. Such an insinuation is maddening.

Malenia is forced back, past the executioner yard into the very center of the keep itself. The dragon's Voice bellows forth and the archway behind her collapses under its power. Then it soars past her and lands on the ruin, eyes narrowed with malice at her. Despite the situation she is in, Malenia knows that she can use the creature's arrogance to her advantage.

Now that it knows she cannot harm her, it sees no reason in hastening her end. But that will be its undoing. Its scaled body is far too tough for her blade to reliably pierce, and even the wings seem molded by the same material. The creature is truly a statue come to life.

Save for one obvious weak point.

Its ember eyes flash with sadistic glee as Malenia slowly backs towards the main keep of Helgen. Her blade is low at her side, its edge gently scraping against the stone. Every step is followed by the clink of gold on stone. The storm of fire and stone overhead has stopped for the moment, and silence reigns.

Malenia raises her sword arm with a measured pace, the dragon's eyes watching intently. Her blade's hilt is firmly locked to her prosthetic, and each gilded finger curls around it. Then, she flicks her arm back with a burst of speed. The dragon's eyes flash towards the sudden movement. A sliver of a distraction, barely more than a second.

It is enough.

Stone shatters beneath her tread, Malenia lunges across the courtyard with one target in mind. The dragon's gaze shifts back and it snaps at her with its fangs. An expected attack. Malenia swings wide to her left, twirling one the ball of her foot. Her momentum halted, she rushes forward. The dragon's twists in time for its eye to see the approaching golden edge. With all her might, Malenia thrusts forward, the tip of her blade catching the beast's eye.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object. For the briefest of moments, there is a stalemate, a paradox with no answer. Then, the blade breaks.

A hairline fracture, perhaps there since the day of its forging or perhaps borne from years of use and abuse, the result is the same. The fracture explodes, running the entire length of the blade in an instant. It shatters in her hand, leaving only a ruined hilt in its wake.

Malenia staggers forward, cradling the hilt in hand. Her eyes are wide, her heart has frozen and her legs are weak. She is without a weapon. The tool of her trade, her defining purpose as a warrior, shattered against a foe she could not best.

The dragon stares at her with its untouched eye, and laughs.

"Do not take it personally, little godling. You are simplybeneath me."

It turns on its feet, swinging its tail around to slam into Malenia's right side. Gold and bone alike shatter and snap. The Blade of Miquella skips across the ground head over heels. Each impact brings new injuries, new pain, until she crashes into the remains of an abandoned home. She impacts with a meaty smack, impaling upon a piece of shattered lumber through her side. Brilliant clean blood spills from her form, her breath is weak, and her golden arm lays shattered by her side.

The dragon, content with its work, roars its victory triumphant. Wings of pitch spread wide and it takes to the sky, each beat kicking up debris in its wake. It leaves Helgen a burning husk, and the tomb for a dying demigoddess.

Malenia cranes her head to watch it leave, the effort agonizing. For a moment, her remaining hand tightens, a gesture of defiance against an unstoppable foe. But the strength leaves as quickly as it came. Her body slowly goes limp. Consciousness fades as darkness eats at her vision once more. She has but one thought as she returns to the realm of dreams

This is now the second time she has known defeat.

A/N: So recently I started up a new method for writing. 300 words a day bare minimum. Either it gets me off my ass and actually writing, or at the bare minimum something is written for the day. So far its been a resounding success. For those fans of my other stories, I have a chapter for each in the works right now, but I frankly needed to step out into a different genre. Too much focus on superhero stuff... so I went for Fantasy hero instead! That's different, right?!

So anyway, let me be clear on what I am trying to accomplish with this story. First, to try both a new genre and new style of writing. Given the whole 'Nirn is actually just a dream maybe' thing, this style felt more fitting. It has an almost dreamlike quality to it. I dunno, I like it. Second, I wanted to try and explore a bit more of Malenia's character even if I wind up having to make up some of it. (From Soft games aren't exactly famous for their complex characters). Third, I am trying to give Skyrim a bit more of a lore accurate feel to it instead of making it a 1:1 translation of the game. Longer distances, larger cities, more powerful magic and dragons, etc.

Which brings us to Alduin. An entire aspect of the story of Skyrim hinges on finding a word of power that allows you to even harm Alduin at all, let alone beat him. That is why Malenia could not actually harm him. He's the embodiment of the end times after all, and has on record beaten the shit out of at least one god before. Malenia is very strong, but without the rot she's simply a beyond exceptional swordswoman.

Speaking of, the Rot. The cosmology of Elden Ring is... vague, to say the least. Its a From Soft game, this is expected. So this is my reasoning for why Malenia is no longer afflicted by the Rot. The Rot is explicitly divine in origin, a 'gift' from an Outer God to Malenia. Its power and function therefore are tied to said god. But Skyrim and Nirn as a whole are in an entirely different realm from the Lands Between. Therefore, with Malenia in a new land cut off from the Outer God, the Rot is reduced to a common if deadly mortal disease. But Malenia is still a demigod, her power and biology is her own. Combined with the in lore strength of Elder Scroll potions and her own natural biology and she was able to quickly heal from the rots worse affects. She won't be regrowing limbs unless granted them by a miracle (unlikely) but it was enough to return her sight and let her memories return. This is also a convenient way to excuse inconsistencies until I get her character down! Huzzah for narratively inclusive excuses!

But this also means that if Malenia returns to the Lands Between, the Rot might come right back and hit her like a ton of bricks. So there's that to consider.

I hope this was a good start and enjoyable. Please leave comments and constructive criticism below and I will see you guys at the next chapter!

Oh, one final thing before I forget. If there's anyone interested, I am looking for a Beta Reader to help me with grammar, diction, syntax, all that fun stuff. If you're interested, shoot me a PM with a list of qualifications.

Ta-ta for now!